


Sting Like I Feel

by severinne



Series: Twentieth Century Boy [1]
Category: Life on Mars (UK)
Genre: Alley Sex, Dirty Talk, Jealousy, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-04-14
Updated: 2008-04-14
Packaged: 2017-10-15 04:41:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,613
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/157133
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/severinne/pseuds/severinne
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The sight of Sam dancing with a girl in a nightclub stirs Gene's arousal and jealousy, leading him to take matters into his own hands. Literally.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sting Like I Feel

‘Right, get that down you.’ Gene dropped two more chasers in front of Vince, considered, then dragged his face up off the table by his stringy hair. ‘Oi, buck up there, big day tomorrow, yeah?’

Vince swayed alarmingly in his chair, but despite his blearily shut eyes managed to wrap his hand around a tumbler of whisky. Granted, it was Geoff’s, but a quick swap put paid to that problem.

‘Good man.’ Gene gave the groom-to-be a bracing slap on the shoulder and reached for one of the remaining drinks. ‘C’mon, gents, drink up, gotta send this miserable sod off to matrimonial bliss in style. The poor bastard.’

General cheers, and not a few drunken slurrings, ringed around the table as the cluster of whisky chasers disappeared from the tray and clinked together in a hearty toast to the demise of Vince’s bachelorhood – his virginity too, as some would have it, but Vince was hardly in any state to defend his honour, or lack thereof.

‘Wait, wait, ‘old up.’ Gene raised an imperious hand, glaring at an unclaimed scotch on the tray. ‘Which o’ you soft, girly poofters thinks ‘e doesn’t ‘ave to keep up with the show?’

Ray snorted into his pint. ‘We’ve only got the one poof, Guv.’ He jerked his head sideways towards the dance floor. ‘Boss went down there with that blonde bint what brought up the last round.’

‘Second-to-last, wasn’ it?’ Chris squinted at the ceiling.

‘No, no, you div, second-to-last was that ginger bird with the great tits.’ Ray gestured significantly, then leaned back in his chair to grin at Gene. ‘She said this round was on the house, but that daft twonk insisted on payin’ her anyway.’

Gene rolled his eyes. He knew exactly what that was about. Things had definitely changed since Warren went down, but club owners were still in the habit of taking special care of the local constabulary, if only as a matter of respect. Leave it to Gladys to make a right pig’s ear of even that polite courtesy.

‘An’ get this, the cheeky minx still refuses to take his money, but says she’ll call it even if he dances with her.’ Ray shook his head as he turned back to his drink. ‘Damned poor trade if you ask me.’

Finding himself at a sudden loss for words, Gene offered up a weak grunt and promptly wrapped his useless lips around the rim of his pint. By the time it was empty, Ray had fully immersed himself in debating breast sizes with a barely coherent Chris, and Gene was still chasing around questions about Sam and club girls and what might be happening on the dance floor. Wearily resigned, he reached past Ray and snatched up the abandoned scotch.

‘Oh, don’t worry about it, Guv.’ Ray had caught the movement and leaned lazily back again. ‘We were just gonna pass it along to Vince.’

‘Think the poor bugger’s doin’ alright for now, don’t you?’ Gene jerked his head across the table towards Vince, who had once again got his forehead stuck to the table from the looks of things. ‘If Tyler’s so damned insistent on payin’ one way or the other, gotta make sure he drinks up, even if I have to ram it down his skinny throat.’ Gene winced inwardly at soon as the choice words left his mouth, but Chris had already drawn Ray’s attention away again, this time to the wobbling tower of empty glasses he was building. Gratefully, Gene slipped away from the table before anything truly incriminating slipped out.

If Ray or any of the others ever found out… hell, Gene was scarcely able to figure out those few fumbling gropes for himself. Sure, the first was an accident, and he was drunk during the second, but the third…

He gave his head a shake and told his todger to keep its opinions to itself.

The difference in elevation between the seating area and the dance floor was only that of a short stack of stairs, giving Gene a slight overview of the throng of dancers; he narrowed his eyes as he scanned the crowd, piercing past vague bodies until he spotted a flash of light-coloured shirt on a lean, familiar body. The stupidly short haircut confirmed it.

If Sam had been dragged unwillingly onto the dance floor, it didn’t show now – dancing enthusiastically, aiming an easy grin at his partner while he clapped in time to the opening beat of the next song. And while her kind were hard to read one way or the other, the girl – blonde hair flipped, green mini dress fitted tight – seemed a bit more than satisfied with her choice of client. Gene had to admit, they made a pretty pair.

Glowering, he glanced down at the two tumblers in his hands, decided he tended to pass the right to Sam, and drank it down in one. Served him right, the poncy little git.

He turned away to drop the empty glass on a nearby table, and felt as though a lead weight had crashed into his chest when he looked back up and caught Sam staring back at him. Gene froze, transfixed by the slow transformation of his bright smile into something uncertain, his movements slowing to vague gestures, lips still parted but as a question unformed.

Gene wished he could look away; that stare was one that had clearly seen too much, and he felt flayed to the bone by its scrutiny.

The moment was a brief one – Sam looked away, drawn out of his distraction by his blonde partner, who leaned in closer and said something against his ear, a hand on his hip coaxing him to resume dancing. A smile tugged at his lips while he listened; then, with a full grin back in place, he snaked an arm around her waist and tugged her closer.

Gene stared, could feel his mouth gaping open in shock. Sam was pressed tight to the girl now, guiding her with movements that seemed to originate from his hips and roll up his spine and shoulders in time to the heavy beat crawling beneath the song’s quicker passages. Much of the side-to-side bounce that Gene was familiar with was gone from Sam’s dance, replaced by something more in the way of up-and-down with a side order of push-and-pull, their bodies grinding gently, Sam moving enticingly downward against her then back up. The girl’s arms were draped around his shoulders, encouraging him at each tease down, and Gene couldn’t blame the sopping thing one bit.

If Sam were slinking down _his_ body like that, Gene would make damn sure that he got all the way down to his knees, and stayed there.

Although – Gene drained his own whisky, swallowing hard – there was something to be said for the view on the way up, of Sam’s arse in those tight trousers, pelvis canting forward against the girl’s hip in time to the clashing beat of the music. A small, red-nailed hand crept over his arse, setting off a flare of hot, scathing bile in Gene’s gut, especially when Sam responded by pressing tighter to her body, head falling back with a heavy-lidded look of abandon on his face. The sideways tilt of his eye caught Gene’s gaze again, and held him for a longer stretch before Sam closed his eyes completely and bit his lower lip, hips rolling enticingly.

Gene never heard the sound of his glass smashing at his feet once it slipped from his fingers, not over the blasting music and certainly not past the white supernova crackling across his brain. The spectacle of Sam thrusting against some nameless bird had him seething with indignation, rock-hard and short of breath, his innards twisting and clawing at his skin from the inside out. This was obscene, like watching his DI fucking ( _or being fucked_ ) on his feet, in public, for everyone to see.

It was downright pornographic. And he couldn’t tear his eyes away.

With a hard, deliberate twist, their joined bodies turned together, bringing the girl’s curving figure directly into Gene’s line of sight and blocking his view of lithe masculinity. He snarled in frustration, then caught the flare of Sam’s eye once more over her slender shoulder, fixing him with a penetrating look from beneath his lashes, mouthing deliberately over words that Gene could suddenly hear in the heavy din of song.

 _I'm your toy, your 20th century boy_

Sam’s lips remained parted on the final rounded sound of the short lyric, drawing Gene’s eye so intently that he almost missed the wink Sam threw at him before he turned with his partner once more, moving rhythmically together with the repeating wail of the chorus.

 _20th century toy, I wanna be your boy  
20th century toy, I wanna be your boy  
20th century toy, I wanna be your boy  
20th century toy, I wanna be your boy_

The same damned line just kept going, which made it impossible for Gene to judge how long it took him to storm down the short flight of stairs and across the packed dance floor. By the time he reached the pair, the song was changing and a handful of space had worked itself between the happily rutting couple. Space enough for Gene to catch the girl by her shoulder.

‘’Ere.’ A twenty pound note had sprung into Gene’s sweaty palm, and he pressed it into her slender hand. ‘I’ve got thirsty men up there waitin’ for another round.’

The girl glanced down at the note and slipped it beneath the low-cutting edge of her halter-neck dress, a short and sharp understanding sparking in her hard, honey-brown eyes as she turned away and sauntered up to the bar. They both knew the twenty was far too much for one round. In fact, it comfortably covered Gene’s order as well as the round Sam had just paid for with his… company.

Convenient, that.

He couldn’t bring himself to look directly at Sam yet. Clamping an unseeing hand around his upper arm, Gene dragged him through the pulsing throng of dancers, past the bar, and to the fire exit, shoving Sam against the heavy door. ‘Outside, now.’

Sam glanced over his shoulder with a devouring gaze that Gene swore he could feel biting at his itching flesh. ‘Pushy, aren’t we?’ he commented teasingly.

Gene narrowed his eyes impatiently. ‘You can say no, but I’m havin’ you one way or the other. I’ll jus’ be carryin’ you out is all.’

A smirk twisted the corner of Sam’s mouth. ‘Don’t tempt me.’ With a fleeting, smouldering look, Sam leaned on the hinged bar of the fire door and slipped outside.

‘No, Sammy-boy, don’t tempt _me_.’ Gene could hear the hard edge of his own need under his words as he followed close behind only to stop short at the sudden quiet of the cool night air, of Sam facing away and seeming so slight in the vaulting darkness of the alleyway, hands rubbing warmth into his arms through the thin fabric of his shirt.

Gene measured his body in a quick, greedy glance. So vulnerable like this, and all his for the taking.

Moving forward in three quick strides, Gene grabbed at Sam and yanked him backward, his arms gripping the shivering body firmly against his own, back to front. He could feel the slight damp of sweat seeping into Sam’s shirt, could smell the heady mix of exertion and arousal flavouring his skin. The scent of indisputable masculinity wafting off this creature that usually smelt only of soap and rain made Gene groan deeply and press his nose into the side of Sam’s long throat, his open mouth tasting the salt of his skin.

Sam gasped, shifting restlessly in his arms. ‘Gene…’ he murmured, his head falling back against Gene’s shoulder, his arse rolling subtly against his straining erection. Gene shuddered, hands roving possessively over the planes of Sam’s body – sneaking beneath the open neck of his shirt, groping the inner line of a denim-clad thigh and rubbing ruthlessly over the heavy bulge of his arousal. With a primitive surge of want, Gene snarled his teeth into the curve of flesh where Sam’s throat met his shoulder, exposed where he had tugged the collar of his shirt dangerously askew. Sam writhed against him, trapped in his arms, soft desperate sounds squirming past his parted lips.

He sounded perfect, his boy did. His pretty, easy _toy_.

Clumsily, one-handedly, Gene tore at Sam’s belt, determined to keep his prey held firmly in place with his bracing left arm while his right hand worked at the barriers of trousers and pants keeping Gene from what rightly belonged to him. Sam was gonna learn what happened to prick-teasing little sluts who showed themselves off in public like that, just begging to be had by any and all takers. If Sam was that desperate for a fuck, then Gene was twice as determined to have his share, to pound his frustrated desire into this willing, supple body before everyone else started lining up for their turns, even if he could never have anything more than this…

Gene stilled, brow pressed to Sam’s shoulder, hand palming beneath his open trousers. Even with the stuff of too many sleepless nights and not nearly enough hasty gropes in dark corners gathered in his arms, a stab of regret made him hesitate. ‘My boy…’ he mumbled, largely to himself, loosening his hold in something closer to an embrace.

‘Yes…’ Sam breathed out, just as softly. One of his arms slipped from Gene’s relaxed grip and reached around the back of Gene’s neck, fingers combing through the longer hair at his nape. ‘Yours...’ His hips were still teasing backward against him, the memory of a dance playing back in slow motion against Gene’s unbearable erection.

‘Better not say it ‘less you mean it.’ Gene spoke the warning against Sam’s ear, relishing the brush of delicate flesh against his lips. His fingers gripped convulsively around the trapped length of Sam’s hard cock as he added, in a heated whisper, ‘I’m not one for sharing my toys.’

A low, needy sound slipped from Sam’s panting mouth, his fingers pulling at Gene’s hair even as he strained his other hand beneath Gene’s hold to grab at his hip and further entangle their restlessly shifting bodies. ‘Oh, God, _yes_ … All for you, it’s always for you…’ Sam was all around him in voice and limbs, arms wrapping further backward and exposing the taut lines of his body. ‘Saw the way you were looking at me back there… shit, I could _feel_ you looking, the things it did to me…’ His voice rolled over a moan as Gene’s hand surged further down to fondle his balls at the same moment that the hand braced across his chest drifted and found a nipple, pinching hard through his thin shirt. ‘Oh, _fuck_ , please… please, Gene, need you now, need you inside me, fucking me –‘

Gene cut him off abruptly with a sweat-damp hand clamped over his mouth, muffling the desperation that cut too close to his own initial impulse towards a brutal, possessive fuck – he was already grinding furiously against Sam’s firm arse, threatening to shoot his load in his trousers from that rough friction alone. Breathing heavily into the heat of Sam’s neck, Gene gathered his resolve and steadily pushed down Sam’s trousers and pants just far enough to release the full flushed length of his erection. Another moan vibrated against the hand Gene still held over Sam’s mouth as he stroked his fingers along the hard shaft and slicked through the pre-come beading at the head.

‘What you need is to listen, you dirty little tart,’ he growled, lips once again pressed to Sam’s ear. He let his teeth nip at the earlobe, enjoying Sam’s flinch and muffled moan, before continuing to speak. ‘I will fuck you, make no mistake ‘bout that, but if you think I’m havin’ you in some pissed-up back alley, yer an even cheaper ride than I had you pegged for back there.’ Gene wrapped his large fist around Sam’s cock and began to stroke in earnest. ‘When I fuck you, it’s gonna be somewhere warm an’ dry with bloody lights so I can see what’s mine when I strip you down an’ lay you out an’ touch an’ taste every fuckin’ gorgeous inch of you.’ He risked removing his hand from Sam’s mouth in favour of forcing his way beneath Sam’s shirt towards skin, dragging dull fingernails across his chest just to hear the whimper it produced. ‘When I do that to you, I want to see what it looks like, want to see my mark all over you… want to watch your face and your pretty mouth when I push inside you, when I fuck you so hard, when I make you come all over us, such a dirty boy –‘

Sam’s sudden, sharp cry cut across Gene’s harsh whisper, his orgasm tearing the tense hush of their embrace with breathless moans and the satisfying pulse of flesh within Gene’s grasp as he greedily drew out every drop of Sam’s release, holding his trembling body tight and breathing mindless endearments into his ear. He ground his hips lazily into the gently unwinding body against him as he softly spoke, drinking in Sam’s gradual surrender until the other man’s boneless bliss stiffened into stillness, snapping at Gene’s latent alertness like the click of a gun’s safety gone off.

He froze in unison, falling silent. Had he actually said that…?

Thrown momentarily off guard, Gene was unprepared for Sam’s quickly recovered reflexes rallying against his hold, breaking free and spinning around and pushing him back towards the club’s brick wall before he could even begin to react. Gene clenched his hands into fists, braced for the storm, but caught nothing but the flash of fierce brown eyes before everything seemed to happen at once.

Sam’s mouth covering his own, messy and aggressive with tongue and teeth. Sam’s fingers freeing his cock, rubbing and stroking furiously with both hands. Sam’s voice, speaking low against his lips between hard kisses, returning his slip of the tongue with deliberate, shameless desire, over and over…

It was over too quickly. Gene groaned harshly into Sam’s mouth as he came helplessly hard into the palm of his hand, leaving him depleted save for the lingering tremors of orgasm. Gasping for air, he stared blearily at Sam and felt another weak spasm at the spectacle of his DI lapping at his own fingers, tonguing away traces of semen with a quietly satisfied air. ‘Right filthy tart, aren’t you?’ he murmured fondly.

A brilliant flush spread across Sam’s cheeks as he let his hand drop back to his side and set about righting his disheveled clothing, eyes furtively diverted to his task. ‘D’you really think so?’ he asked softly.

Gene frowned at the wounded note in Sam’s voice, squinting hard at his fingers where they fumbled with a shirt button that was no longer there. ‘C’mere,’ he said, every bit as quiet.

Sam’s upward glance was still self-conscious, but he wordlessly closed the single stride between them, allowing Gene to pull him into his chest. He didn’t return the embrace, but rested a tentative hand on Gene’s thigh and pressed his face into the lapel of his suit; instinctively, Gene let one of his own hands slide up Sam’s tensed back and cup the back of his head, studying the opposite wall of the alley as he tried to find something appropriate to say. He clearly wasn’t so good with words right now.

‘I meant it, y’know,’ Gene mumbled after a long silence. He felt Sam tense even further and winced, rubbing reassuringly along his back. ‘No, no, not that, you dozy git. The other thing I said.’ He took a deep breath and closed his eyes. ‘Y’know. Earlier, like.’

He waited nervously, refusing to release the breath he was holding until he felt Sam relax in his arms and tilt his head to rub his stubble-rough cheek into the side of Gene’s neck. ‘I meant it too,’ he murmured back.

‘Ah. Right.’ The gruff acknowledgement was a massive understatement compared to the swell of triumph expanding in his chest. ‘Well, er, good to know. Doesn’t do to keep quiet ‘bout these things…’

The huff of Sam’s soft laugh tickled pleasantly across his neck. ‘Dunno ‘bout that, not if keepin’ your mouth shut gets you that ‘orny all the time.’

‘Nah, not me. Upstanding pillar of the community, I am.’

‘Not so upstanding now.’ Sam slipped backward a half-step, looking pointedly down between them. ‘Might want to ‘olster that sidearm, Guv.’

Cursing softly, Gene hastily tucked himself away and set to fastening his zip and belt buckle. ‘Was yer bloody doin’ anyway, you slag,’ he grumbled. ‘You an’ yer ruddy _dancing_ …’

Sam crossed his arms, though a predatory smile was playing over his lips. ‘That wasn’t the ‘alf of it. I’ll ‘ave to give you a lap dance sometime, show you the real deal.’

Despite his recent orgasm, Gene’s cock twitched at the lewd promise in Sam’s eyes and voice. ‘I’ve no idea what the ‘ell that is, but no time like the present.’ He lunged forward, grabbing Sam by his bicep. ‘C’mon, we’re leaving.’

‘But –‘ Sam glanced back at the fire exit. ‘Vince…’

‘- is wasted. Blitzed. Utterly bladdered, overdone like yer gran’s Sunday roast.’ He tugged hard, pulling Sam tight against him and treating himself to a heavy-handed grope as he leaned in to whisper into Sam’s ear.

‘It’s my bachelor party now, Sammy-boy.’


End file.
